Miscellaneous - October 2010: I Have Just Seen a Place

  by Lisa Torem

published: 6 / 10 / 2010

Article

Two Writers Season One Historic Moment "Swoosh, a meteor went smoking by and from all over the camp ground came the awed responses, ‘Do you see that?’ It got bigger and bigger until the tail stretched out all the way across the sky and burned itself out. Everybody was awake, and it was raining fire in the sky,” John Denver (‘Take Me Home', 1994). LISA While camping in Colorado with his then- wife Annie, American singer-songwriter John Denver saw the annual Perseid Meteor Shower, which appears in August, and also exclaimed, “Imagine a moonless night in the Rockies in the dead of summer and you have it.” On a recent trip to Colorado I began to appreciate the beauty of the Rocky Mountains as did Denver. For most of my life, I ignored my own country and preferred going as far away as possible to see new sights, figuring I’d see what’s in my own backyard when I was no longer ambulatory and the more exotic places had been chronicled. I wasn’t even a Denver fan when I first heard ‘Rocky Mountain High’. It was a bit too folksy for me and it wasn’t until I actually associated the lyrics with the gorgeous scenery that I realized the relevance of his imagery. Even rock guitarist Jimi Hendrix wrote about America, though in a more unorthodox manner. His electric, fuzzy, and psychedelic instrumental of, ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ which he played at Woodstock caused more than a few eyebrows to arch. So, to clarify his intent Hendrix commented, “We’re not trying to take away the greatness that America is supposed to have, but we’re playing it the way the air is in America today…the air is slightly static, isn’t it?” Oh, yes, it was. It’s fascinating to see how a songwriter approaches writing about a place. Sometimes he/she will spell out what makes a geographic region visually spectacular while other times “lines in the sand” are drawn about whose land it is. Sometimes you get the feeling the writer simply wants to show off being an exotic, well-travelled type. Has the writer ever been to Zanzibar? Mali? Dayton, Ohio? Or, is he an accidental tourist? And, has the song motivated us to hop the next plane? Consider ‘Istanbul (Not Constantinople)’ by They Might Be Giants or ‘Katmandu’ by Bob Seger. These writers deserve credit. It takes courage to define something so vast with just a handful of notes. I mean, Istanbul, a place that has historically served as the crossroads between two cultures or ‘Katmandu’, which boasts one of the most magnificent mountain ranges in the universe. How does one capture that sense of historical relevance or beauty in a three-minute song without resorting to a laborious, laundry list of adjectives? Then, in a class by itself, is ‘Atlantis’ by Donovan. In his flowing gown, and auburn ringlets, this love child created a moving narrative about Antediluvian Kings. His voice was tender, but focused, as soothing as a self-hypnosis tape. Did anyone know what an Antediluvian King was? Nah. Had this guitar-strumming, 60s hippie ever been to this mythological paradise – at least in a conscious state? Get real. But, he made it as palatable to his generation as J.K. Rowling made Hogwarts to her pre-pubescent admirers. . Some travellers, like Jimmy Buffet, really do practice what they preach. I have witnessed those panoramic ‘Key Largo’ sunsets to which the locals set their watches and I certainly wouldn’t complain if I had a zip code in ‘Margaritaville. What a lucky guy that Buffet is – he wrote a few bars about living in a place where you’re expected to do nothing more than nurse a luscious-looking cocktail in a salt-rimmed glass adorned with a wedge of lime. “Wasted awaaaay again in Margaritaville,” he wailed, before exalting over a “jigger of salt.” Now, that’s what I call song-writing. The aforementioned John Denver also wrote ‘Country Roads’ about a place where I have not been: West Virginia. In his inimitable, “aw shucks” style, the bespectacled, sandy-haired outdoorsman, created another story song that is catchy and does make one want to abandon the fast-paced, isolating urban jungle, to “find a place where I belong.” And, that promise of belonging is another factor that makes us want to sing along James Taylor was cut from the same American cloth. ‘Carolina’ (In My Mind) has a slow beat and also makes one crave an exodus from city squalor. Another tune, which has created quit a stir, far from my home, is ‘Mull of Kintyre’ by Wings, which became a much- loved Scottish anthem, perhaps as beloved as ‘Auld Lang Syne’. But, though I’ve never seen that particular region, even the name; so unique compared to hum drum monikers in the States, captivates. To be quite honest, I don’t even know what a “mull” is – I doubt we have any over here - but I’m sure it’s more breathtaking than this image from John Sebastian’s ‘Summer in the City'. “Hot town, summer in the city/Back of my neck’s getting dirty and gritty.” Ugh. I suppose that could be many places. Thank goodness it’s autumn. ‘Dirty Old Town’ about Salford, England certainly won’t inspire tourists, or doesn’t Ewan MacColl care? Now, don’t think that just because the group enjoyed nature and true love, that Wings wouldn’t dip into politics. Take ‘Give Ireland Back to the Irish’. There’s no ambiguity there. But, our American lads felt a need to chronicle their own internal struggles. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, in their account of the student massacre at Kent State, called ‘Ohio’ infuriated the Establishment and pacified the youth. “Four dead in Ohio” became a cry of anger during student demonstrations thereafter. But, politics aside, Ohio doesn’t rank too highly, in terms of its physical aesthetic, according to Randy Newman. This satirist’s song, ‘Burn On’ (Cuyahoga River) is about a body of water so filthy and oily it actually catches on fire. Helen, if there is something lovely written about that poor state, please bring it on. But, until then, ‘Whiskey River’ by Willie Nelson will suffice. Personally, I’m an escapist. Give me a hummable theme from a romantic comedy or a song that simply takes us away, just because of its pentameter or flash-card effect. These titles could be names for paintings in the Loeuvre, ‘Silver Water Falls’ by Siouxsie and the Banshees and ‘The Painted Desert’ by 10,000 Maniacs, which is another dazzling tribute to the American Southwest. It’s funny how a single descriptor instantly affects our mood; coupled with a Caribbean rhythm, the free-wheeling words and simple chords of ‘Montego Bay’ dissolve our worries, but makes our bodies scream for a limbo contest. Then again, (Sittin’ On) ‘The Dock of the Bay’ is so suggestive. I think about this song every time I walk around one of Chicago’s harbours. It’s a song that makes you take stock of where you’ve been and how you got there. Otis Redding’s voice is so smooth and deceptively persuasive; you want to tell him your life story. You know he’ll listen. Some places, let’s say, are a bit far fetched and hazy-sounding. I mean, did Fats Domino actually find his thrill on ‘Blueberry Hill?’ Was he not setting the bar too low? And, though I’ve heard there really is an ‘Itchycoo Park’ – a really fantastic song – would the straight-laced appreciate this sentiment? “What did we do there? /We got high/What did we touch there? /We touched the sky.” By the time the Small Faces have reached the chorus, we’ve got such a nice buzz, it doesn’t matter: “It’s all too beautiful.” Billy Joel is one of my all around favourite writers. His depiction of working-class, neighborhood people in ‘Allentown’ has the intensity of a detective novel you can’t put down. His piano work in ‘Vienna’ is magical. No doubt, he has studied enough of the great musical masters to replicate time and place through their eyes, but it’s ultimately Joel’s creation. Sure, he’s toured Asia, and has had his fill of fascinating cities, but he settled in on ‘Goodnight Saigon.’ Now, I don’t know the whole story, but this “Big Shot/Piano Man” sure makes us feel very far from home. But, though he has scaled the globe, much of Joel’s best stuff remains domestically-based. Please don’t leave me stranded at JFK airport, or you’ll find me cussing up a storm. It is about the most chaotic place one can imagine. But, if you can drop me at Michael’s Pub near 54th Street, I’ll definitely be in a ‘New York State of Mind’. Some songwriters are simply in denial. Shall we leave them to manage their own temper tantrums and delirium tremors? ‘This is Not America,’ complains the irritable Bowie. To which, Jamie O’Neal adds ‘There is no Arizona.’ “There’s a fog upon LA/and our friends have lost their way,” a droning Harrison warns. Meanwhile, his counter-culture friend struggles with his own spaced-out epiphanies. “First there is no mountain/Than there is no mountain/than there is…” Oh, my, even dear Donovan’s lost his way… HELEN The songs that particularly fascinate me are those where writing about a place is used to evoke a particular feeling, as opposed to merely describing a region. In ‘High' by New Model Army, Justin Sullivan sings about driving up into the hills, sitting and looking across the landscape of the Pennines and how that puts all your problems into perspective. “The movers move, the shakers shake/The winners write their history/But from high on the high hills it all looks like nothing.” I think that’s to do with the very age of the land compared to the fraction of time that we spend on it. Mull of Kintyre, as you mention, is an anthemic song about coming home, no wonder it’s become a song that’s sung by Scots away from home at football and rugby matches. A mull, by the way, is just Scottish Gaelic for an island, so I’m sure you do have them. Maybe not with “mists rolling in from the sea” and as dreamed of as fondly as McCartney dreams of the Kintyre. But it’s those descriptive lyrics that give the song its power to evoke the feeling of being far away from home and longing to return. Although so far it hasn’t made me want to take a trip there, but then again I’m not a big Wings fan or one of bagpipes – ask me about that another time! I’m trying to think now if any songs have made me want to visit a place? Certainly not Men at Work’s ‘Down Under’ – “Where the beer does flow and men chunder?” No thanks there’s quite enough of that in my own country. I’ve been to New York, but I doubt that either ‘On Broadway’ or ‘New York, New York’ were what made me go. So what is the response that these songs that so evoke the feel of place engender in me? Apart from irritation at 'Down Under',I think it’s the ability to associate a particular feeling with a place, although for me that appears to be less of a positive association and more of a negative one. In 'Green & the Grey', Justin Sullivan sings of friends leaving Yorkshire and the “valleys of the green & the grey” to move to the bright lights of London. He certainly paints a picture of why they might want to leave – “Friday nights in casualty” after being attacked in the town, singing of laughing at posters of “palm trees by the sea”. The contrast between that and Bradford – the two couldn’t be more different. Strangely though, Justin is a not a native of these valleys. Like me he moved here from the south, although that does not mean that he doesn’t miss the people he knows that have moved away, never to be heard from again. He does understand the draw of London for musicians and the way it can eat you up and how you can disappear into its underbelly. Which brings me onto another aspect of songs about places. They may have the ability to turn the places into somewhere sinister. A place full of shadows and people and things you’d rather not see. Certainly the Smiths’ 'Suffer the Little Children' about the Moors Murderers where the “But fresh lilaced moorland fields/Cannot hide the stolid stench of death” doesn’t make me want to visit those moors, although I drive over them regularly at night. Then there is the desolation of the city at night as in 'The Passenger' by Iggy Pop, “I see the city’s ripped back sides” and “all of this is yours and mine.” It might well be, but do you really want it? It’s a hymn to the city at night, but it doesn’t make it any more appealing. What is he doing riding round the city at night. Surely that’s sinister in itself. Nick Cave running through swampland being hunted by a mob where “The trees are veiled in fog like so many jilted brides,” – wow. Louisiana doesn’t sound such a good place to go for a holiday. Which perhaps brings us onto perhaps the most appalling scenery of all in Billy Holiday’s ‘Strange Fruit,’ where the landscape of the deep South, the “pastoral scene of the gallant south” is juxtaposed against the “strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.” Yeah the south ain’t no place I wanna go! Which perhaps does it a disservice, I’ll have to let you tell me though. Hey, perhaps I should try and find some happier associations! It’s not all doom and gloom here in the valleys of green & grey. I have songs I like that take me away from it all. They may not make me want to visit a place, but they bring that place into my head and make me feel good. 'The Whole of the Moon' by the Waterboys and the lines “I saw the rain dirty valley/You saw Brigadoon/I saw the crescent/You saw the whole of the moon” that always brings me up if I’m feeling down. It’s not strictly about a place, but there’s enough in there about places imaginary or real, so I’m counting it. Then there’s the metaphorical, the songs that sound like their about places, but they’re not. Howling Bells' 'I’m Not Afraid' – “I've been where the sun don't shine/I've been where the trees have all died/I've been where there's no pathway or door/And I'm not afraid anymore.” Is it a real place she’s been to? I’m guessing not, but if she’s not afraid then I’m not either. There are also some pretty rousing political songs about places. Stiff Little Fingers' 'Alternative Ulster' is a rally call to change something for yourself. Billy Bragg also revisits Belfast in 'Northern Industrial Town'. Are these associations really that cheerful though? I still sense a thread of dissonance – they may cheer me up, but there’s a negativity in there somewhere. So, Lisa, I hope I haven’t brought you down too much in my search for what meanings songs about places, landscapes, scenery hold for me. Do all they all have to be about depressing things? Or are there some out there that make it all go away and are bright and happy at the same time? Maybe I’m not so much in a New York State of mind anymore, as a winter is coming state of mind! LISA One thing I realized, while awaiting your response, Helen, was that I failed to look below the surface in a few of my mentions. Jamie O’Neal’s song, ‘There is No Arizona’ is deeply emotional. It’s about a girl who has been deceived. The references to the beautiful landscape are there, all right, but they are simply used to dig more deeply into the wounded heart of the song’s subject. You see, the lovely views and good times she had been promised never came to pass. It was a ruse. A similar tune, ‘By the Time I Get to Phoenix’ (Jimmy Webb) also finds a young woman emotionally stranded. The guy imagines his girl waking up to find his note on the table. “By the time I get to Phoenix/She’ll be rising,” it begins. The landscape is background for the heartbreak. It is interesting, too, how words which you use that are “foreign” to me, to describe landscapes common to you, tweak my imagination and probably appear more poetic, than they might actually be. For example, when I think of Moors, I can’t help but imagine characters from 'Wuthering Heights' tripping over craggy hills, in the darkly lit sky, to find each other. Am I in a time warp? Well, that’s the only other time I’ve heard of it. Similarly, “strange fruit” does not still appear in the South, though, perhaps the politicians that Randy Newman encountered, still reside. I think the great cities of London and New York have quite a bit in common. I realized that when you spoke of “disappearing into its underbelly.” When Don Henley described a 'New York Minute',' he might not have known that it would become part of the Am. English vernacular But, what makes a song a classic? Let’s revisit 'Mull of Kintyre'. I met several American men who, after hearing Denny Laine perform this anthem, exploded with enthusiasm. They had never been there, they revealed. But, this is undoubtedly a classic as it defines what and where it is with such graphic detail and it evokes a sense of curiosity in others. The two men said they could almost hear the bagpipes… As far as fun places, California is the go-to girl. But, the hot sun, T-birds and surf boards get a little dreary after a spell. But, for even more fun, how about ‘Octopus’s Garden'? Ringo Starr loved watching the real thing and admired the details this homely sea creature used in decorating its dwelling. Are there any heavenly or other subterranean places you remember being put to music, Helen? HELEN It’s funny you should mention ‘By the Time I Get to Phoenix,’ and I remembered that one just after I posted. I always wished that when she woke up she was relieved he’d gone – the arrogance of the man! I don’t know the Jamie O’Neal song; I shall have to look it up. Or maybe I do, but I just don’t remember it. You’re right to think of 'Wuthering Heights' in respect of the moorland landscape. The Bronte sisters were living just up the road to me and writing about their experiences of the wild places in which they found themselves. The Moors haven’t changed since then, so no you’re not in a time warp at all. Oh, but there’s another song in there, isn’t there? Kate Bush’s ‘Wuthering Heights'. It’s more about the characters than the landscape really apart from the first two lines – the other worldliness is suggested more by her vocals and the music. I heard ‘Octopus’s Garden’ yesterday afternoon, when I was in a pub with my friends, and I started to think whether there were any heavenly or subterranean places I remember. One song I do really love is 'Dream A Little Dream' as sung by Ella Fitzgerald. “Stars shining high above me/Night breezes seem to whisper you love me.” It reminds me of when I was growing up, as my Dad used to sing it around the house. It takes me back to my childhood and to dark nights under the sycamore trees that grew around where we lived, looking up at the starlit sky. You could see so many more stars then than you can now! ‘California Dreaming’ by the Mamas and the Papas is a great song, wistful and dreamy, but I think it holds out more hope for what you’ll find when you get there than the shallowness of LA and all those sun-tanned surfers and would- be actresses. Maybe we’re doing California a disservice though? Perhaps there are pockets that are worth a visit? I’ve always quite wanted to visit San Francisco; it seems a bit more alternative and free thinking than LA and a little less plasticky. I think the thing about ‘California Dreaming’ is that those first lines describe the UK so well – “All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey/I went for a walk on a winter’s day” sounds pretty familiar to me. No wonder they were dreaming of the sun. LISA Unfortunately, our “trip to the moon on gossamer wings” must end. No, Cole wasn’t a rocker, but surely he wouldn’t “call the whole thing off” if asked to row. For the record, I say, “potato,” not “potahto.” We’ve trashed moors and mountains, dissed surfers and the south, and transversed continents. So, let’s part to Dan Fogelberg’s peaceful, lovely ballad, ‘Netherlands.’ “From the rocky perch I’ll continue to search/For the wind and the snow and the sky/But where do you go when you get to the end of your dream?” But, that’s a whole new row...